The Fork in the Road
by Aku Soku Zanza
Summary: Authors: Me and frek at LJ. Summary: Eames makes Arthur remember why. Warnings: Angsty angst is angsty, slash, a bit of crack at the beginning.


Eames walked across the warehouse, smiling at Arthur as he strolled flirtatiously. The Eames that everyone knew. "You know you want to touch me." He spread his arms, displaying his body - clearly sans clothing, a fresh dimple in his wrist from recently using the PASIV.

"Really, Eames?" Arthur shook his head, walking away from Eames. "Why don't you put some clothes on?"

Eames scratched his head boyishly and shrugged with one shoulder. "I was just dreaming about us," he chided, a wide grin spreading across his face.

"And what part of that dream required you to remove your clothes before you went under?" Arthur turned away from Eames, trying to avoid staring. He wasn't very successful.

Eames walked towards Arthur, covering the distance that the dark-haired man had spread between them, making no attempt to cover himself up. "I assure you, darling, it was for professional reasons only. For research."

Arthur stared into Eames' face, concentrating on not looking any lower. "What kind of research, exactly?" He asked, taking a couple steps back, maintaining his distance.

"Well, I was assigned this task by Cobb," Eames winked, knowing that the mention of their boss would arouse feelings of obligation in Arthur. "He wanted to test whether nudity in a dream would cause the mark to become more open and honest about the information to be extracted. The subconscious, feeling vulnerable and even embarrassed, would be less likely to attack the dreamer, he posited."

Arthur considered what Eames was saying, knowing full well that he was full of shit. "And what were the results of this... study?"

"Currently, the results are mixed. I believe I shall require your aid in any future runs of this experiment." Eames reached Arthur, cornering him against the wall by placing his hand against it directly over the other man's shoulder.

Arthur snorted before Eames pushed him back, his eyes suddenly widening as he's forced into the corner. "Eames..." He said, uncertainly, suddenly even more uncomfortable with the situation.

"You wouldn't have to do it for me, Arthur," Eames chuckled, without masking a hint of misguided glee. " It is purely for the benefit of our team, for your best friend, Dom Cobb." He tapped the tip of Arthur's nose with the pointer finger of his free hand condescendingly.

Arthur turned his head away from Eames when he reached out to touch his nose, annoyed with the forger's comfort in the situation. "And if this were something that Dom had asked of us, what exactly would I need to do?" He was still skeptical of Eames, but his curiosity and loyalty had gotten the better of him.

"You would be _my_ mark," Eames stated, matter-of-factly. "Just think of something you want to hide, a piece of information that might concern your secrets, and we'll see how easily I can delve into that vault in a nude dream." He focused hard on keeping his face neutral, trying not to betray his actual intent.

Arthur studied Eames' features, trying to discern just what he was hiding. Something about this whole situation didn't feel right, and he wasn't sure he should entertain the idea. "And say I do this, who's to say Ariadne or someone else won't walk in on us? I know you have no qualms about being naked in front of everyone else. But I much prefer my privacy."

Eames retracted his arms, crossing them over his muscled chest. So the kid wanted to play this game, huh? "We can take this elsewhere if you like. I have a hotel room uptown where we'll have all the privacy we need." He turned slightly, flexing his muscles, drawing Arthur's attention to his body.

When Eames turned around, Arthur couldn't help but let his eyes follow the line of his back, settling on his ass. Suddenly he felt like he had lead in his stomach. This wasn't a good idea. What if people found out? Why was he even considering it?

Arthur raised an eyebrow, still very suspicious of Eames' intentions. "And if I said yes?" Arthur asked, wondering what the hell was wrong with him.

_Yes, just like that. I want you compliant and flexible, bendable to my whims._ Eames smiled, opening his lips and flicking his tongue across those luscious pink pillows. "Then we'll get overtime for doing Cobb's research for him. I know you _love_ spending your days with your head stuck in a book or an internet database, so this shouldn't be too far out of your way. Come, I have my own PASIV in the room."

Arthur chewed on his bottom lip, still unsure of what Eames was trying to do, but he couldn't deny his curiosity. What was that about curiosity killing the cat? He hoped the cat enjoyed it at least. "Fine." He relented, knowing this was a bad idea. "But you have to get dressed first."

"All right," Eames agreed. He then walked over to his locker in the warehouse, retrieving a silky button-up shirt and jeans that fit very tightly over him, both in the front and in the back. After dressing, he came back up to Arthur and questioned, "Ready?"

Arthur let his eyes trail over Eames' clothing. The man was trying very... hard. He smirked at his thought. He adjusted his jacket, patting down his pockets, stalling for a few moments, and sighed. "As I'll ever be."

The pair started walking, keeping a certain distance between each other on the crowded Paris streets. "Wait a second, Arthur, you have something in your hair," Eames said, reaching over with one arm and running his fingers through the neatly gelled hair. "Oh, my mistake." But their steps had drawn together, their feet moving in unison next to each other, as if they'd once marched to the same drumbeat.

Arthur wanted to squint at Eames, like Dom did when he was trying to figure something out. But he was afraid it'd ruin the perfect facade that he'd worked on for so long. He hated when people touched his hair. It took forever to get just right, and here Eames was running his fingers through his hair and ignoring every signal he'd sent him.

"Don't do that." He finally said, long after Eames had moved his hand away and they had started walking in step together.

Eames shook his head with a smirk, "Only if you don't attempt to squint like that. That look on you is going to give me nightmares." The women (and some men) passing by started sending him appreciative glances, concentrating on his well-built body, but he ignored the attention, lavishing all of his own on Arthur.

"Watch out. A puddle." He wove his arm around Arthur's and held him that way while assisting him around a spot of water that would have at most dampened the bottoms of his leather shoes.

Arthur glared at Eames as he took his arm and pulled him around the wet spot on the ground. "Really, Eames?" he asked. "Was that necessary?"

Even after passing the puddle, Eames didn't relinquish his hold on his prize. "You can never be too careful in this city, love; it's just like Mombasa nowadays. So many pitfalls and untrustworthy people. Might as well stick close to someone you can count on." He flashed Arthur a confident grin. "Like me."

Arthur couldn't stop himself from letting out a snort. "Right. Because you're so trustworthy, Eames." He shifted uncomfortably in Eames' grasp, wondering how soon they were going to reach the hotel. "I've never known you to be up front with your true intentions. To anyone."

Eames slid his arm out of the nook in Arthur's elbow only to re-initiate contact at his hand, pulling him towards the door of a grand hotel at the end of a block. "Here we are, darling." He opened the door for Arthur like a gentleman, although his fashion sense would dictate otherwise. After a few moments of silence as they glided across the granite tiles to the elevator, Eames continued, "You know... I'd never dream of lying to you, Arthur. That is one statement I will stand by."

Arthur followed Eames into the hotel, looking around at the luxury surrounding them. He wondered where Eames found the money to stay in a place like that. Their line of work was lucrative, but nothing near what Eames was surely spending to stay there. As they entered the elevator, Eames spoke and Arthur almost laughed out loud. "Dream?" He shook his head at the forger's careful choice in words. "What about in the real world, Eames?"

Eames raised Arthur's hand, which was still in his grasp, up to his soft lips and gently grazed it with their touch. "I'm aware of your misgivings and understand completely why you would be worried, my dear. However, I wasn't just twiddling my thumbs in Mombasa; I had a very lucrative trade in counterfeiting and forgery."

Arthur watched Eames, his eyes narrowed on the man, as he brought his hand up to his lips. He wanted to glare, but the brush of those soft lips against his skin sent shivers through his body and left him forgetting that he was supposed to be skeptical of the man. All he could manage was a cautionary, "Eames..."

Ding. The elevator hit the 4th floor, and the two men walked into a hallway of carpeted luxury, with priceless paintings lit up by the glow of oil lamps strung up along the wall and antique benches available for the traveler in need of a rest spot (e.g. one who was kicked out by a spouse). "This way," Eames spoke, leading Arthur through the hotel. They took a couple of turns before ending up in front of room 491. "Home sweet home."

"491?" Arthur asked, turning to Eames. "Really?"

He started to think about his day so far. Did he remember how he got to the warehouse, finding Eames naked? Or did Eames just get this room to screw with his head? He reached his hand into his pocket, palming his die, feeling for the weight. It felt right. He let out a low sigh. Eames opened the door for him, ushering him into the quiet room.

Eames fumbled around along the wall for the light switch, which it turns out was connected by a cord to the chandelier and merely attached to the wall with a tack. He gave it a tug and revealed a room that evoked thoughts of eighteenth-century France and the indulgences of royalty, yet it had obviously felt Eames' touch. Sitting on the coffee table was a framed photograph of two young men, obviously military, arms around each other in camaraderie. It was them, once upon a time.

Arthur's eyes fell onto the framed photo sitting on the coffee table. Eames had left it there for him to see, he was certain of it. He walked across the room and picked it up, the frame heavy in his hands. He looked at the picture closely, studying the smiles on their faces, the carefree way they held onto each other, the joy they seemed to share just being in each other's company. Arthur wondered where that had gone.

"No one's here now. No one can see us but our own eyes. And you don't have to pretend anymore, Arthur, that we never knew each other or that we hated each other." Eames walked over to the bar and silently poured two glasses of scotch on the rocks for them, returning to hand one to his old mate. "You told me that you would never regret what we went through together, but it seems lately that you've changed your mind."

Arthur jumped when Eames began to speak, not expecting to hear that voice so close behind him. But quickly, his words washed over him, Eames' voice soothing him, calming his nerves, where earlier all it did was irritate him. How did this happen so suddenly?

Arthur was left questioning himself as Eames reminded him of his old promises. It felt like a lifetime ago. He turned to face Eames again, taking a long look at the man he had spent so many good years with. His current dress withstanding, he was still the same person, the same earnest look in his eyes, the same voice calming all his fears.

Arthur reached out and took the glass of scotch Eames offered, quickly downing the liquid, feeling it burn as it went down his throat. "I haven't changed my mind, Eames. I just..." He paused to think, suddenly unsure. Why did he do what he did? Was he really so different now?

Eames watched as Arthur took the situation in, almost able to read his mind. Through those years of relying on one another for mere survival, each day filled with life-and-death decisions, he and Arthur had come to understand each other so that words were no longer necessary in communication.

But he could see his old partner struggling. The years apart had created a dam where once the river of dialogue flowed freely. He put on his climbing gear and tried to overcome it, but it was too high, too perilous, and he was afraid he might fall... never to rise again. He knew that their absence in each other's lives was a choice that Arthur had made, but Eames couldn't help but hope that this was the one decision that he'd grown to regret. "You've changed." But how much? And how permanent was this transformation?

Arthur looked up into Eames' face, finding those eyes that had followed him through years of running. What was he running from? He shook his head at Eames' words, not wanting to believe them, but knowing they were more true than he'd admit. "I haven't." The words felt false on his tongue.

He stepped closer to Eames, each step feeling like another mile. "How can you still be the same person? After all the years we've been apart?"

"It was one of the reasons you left, Arthur. Don't you remember?" Eames' composure began to crack like an ancient stone carving, fine lines appearing above his brow. "You wanted to see the world, to live life, to breathe the air of a million places. And I was always good ol' Eames, the steady rock, the pillar, the anchor weighing you down. Years of weather and wear don't erode what I am, darling. And my love for you is just the same."

Arthur ran his hands through his hair, knocking strands loose, letting them fall into his eyes. He couldn't believe Eames had managed to rope him into this conversation. Everything he'd been avoiding for the last several months they'd been working together. And here he was, his heart begging for another chance, his mind wanting to run from the room, leaving this all behind.

"If I remember correctly," Arthur started, stepping closer to Eames, trying to ignore the ridiculous shirt he was wearing, "You were the one who didn't want to come with me."

Eames broke eye contact with Arthur, instead focusing intently on sipping his drink. "You didn't understand my reasoning then, love, and you won't now."

He cleared his throat and placed the glass on the counter, his demeanor still further breaking apart, from solid rock into fine dust. "What we had was pure magic, an unbelievable dream. And I was afraid... afraid that anything to disrupt the brilliant boon we'd been given by fate would crush all that we'd built. I couldn't let imperfect memories tarnish this paradise of our own, could I?

"But I was wrong too. What I failed to consider was the alternative. That it wasn't worth living, breathing, dreaming... without you in my life."

Arthur felt his resolve crumble then, the pain that was slowly building in his heart made its way to the surface and it was all he could do not to run into Eames' arms and forget everything about the last several years. Something was still holding him back, a sliver of the new Arthur, he supposed. The one with the stony facçade, the steely spine, and the locked away emotions.

"And now?" He found himself asking, "Now that I've changed?" He needed to know if Eames still wanted him now, the way he was today, or if he held onto the thoughts and memories of the old Arthur, like the picture in the frame.

Eames quietly took the picture in the minimalist black frame and weighed it in his hands. Past and present. Images seemed to flow from the faded photo into his veins and into his mind. He felt like he was able to relive each memory at that moment, just like he did with his PASIV each night.

Arthur picking a wildflower and tying it around his finger. "A promise," he'd said.

Their first kiss. Clumsy, awkward, nervous breathing. Neither of them had expected it. But they smiled at each other afterwards in acceptance. I take you for who you are, no matter how silly you look right now.

He remembered the sunlight that danced across Arthur's face the morning after. He turned down the shade to allow his lover to sleep just a little longer.

But no matter how beautiful and how dear, these were just memories, falsely extracted to replay ad infinitum in his dreams.

"It's you, Arthur. It's you that I want," he murmured, replacing the frame on the table.

Arthur watched Eames closely as he moved across the room, picking up the picture frame and staring at the people they were. He watched the emotions play across Eames' face, which had finally lost the mask of playfulness he had worn since they had met again.

He waited, his heart aching to know what Eames was thinking. And when Eames finally said the words he had longed to hear, he swore his chest hurt with the joy he felt inside. He tempered the emotions, though, still unable to fully allow himself free.

"Are you sure?" Arthur asked, taking a tentative step toward Eames, wondering why he was putting himself through this. Shouldn't he be in his arms by now, lost in a passionate kiss? "I can't bear to have my heart broken again, Eames," he finally admitted, surprised at his own words.

"It was unfair of me to hold onto the old you and disregard the person you wanted to be, to grow into. I locked you up in my prison of memories, and kept you all for myself. But it was just a shade, my darling, a shade of what you really are. I can't imagine you with all your imperfections, perfections, and complexities. And I realized... I don't want to." Eames finally took an affirmative step forward, his eyes wide and honest, staring into his love's soul through those lenses.

"If I broke your heart again, I would be shattering my own into a thousand pieces. Because what are we but two halves of a whole?"

Arthur knew then that whatever reservations he had with Eames, they were gone. Things were going to be good between them again, amazing even. He closed the gap between them, pressing his body against Eames' and wrapped his arms around the other man, finally home.

Arthur reveled in the warmth of Eames' embrace for a moment before leaning forward and bringing his lips to Eames', a slow, tentative kiss. But one that sent shocks through his body, bringing back old memories and creating new ones.

Eames was momentarily stunned by the contact; he wasn't sure how the new Arthur would take his words, but it seemed that his core, the wondrously soft and tender Arthur he'd fallen for, was still breathing inside the spiny adopted shell. He then let his eyelids fall, savoring the taste he'd pined for on so many nights, the taste of nostalgia. The PASIV was able to recreate his memories, but the elements he'd missed most in reality weren't present in his dreams.

After they parted lips, Eames reached down and raised the same hand he'd kissed earlier, this time attending to Arthur's ring finger. "A promise," he echoed.

Arthur watched as Eames took his hand, bringing it to his lips, and whispered the words they had said to each other all those years ago. He could almost remember the feeling of the wildflower in his fingers as he tied it around Eames' and his heart ached remembering that moment. "A promise," he repeated.

He brought his lips to Eames' once more, wanting to lose himself in the man, to create new memories, new feelings, a new life together. As much as Eames had stayed the same, he was still different. Surer. Steadier. Somehow, he had become just what Arthur had tried so hard to be, what he had only been able to project. He had become just what Arthur had needed.

"So, darling... About that nude dream?"

Arthur laughed, crushing his mouth to Eames', effectively silencing the other man. Some things never change.

It was amazing. The two lovers parted ways at a fork in the road; they said their last goodbyes and traveled on. But further up, the road converged, to their surprise, as familiar faces spotted each other across the dusty path.

"Hello," they said. And they resumed walking along, side by side, as if nothing had changed but the thinned soles of their shoes.


End file.
